Alice
by SejiADettswic
Summary: an 'ugly' girl with no connections to the outside world puts herself on a boat leading towards an adventure that will changer her life and her view of he world. bad summary  inspired by Alice in Wonderland. R
1. Ugly Duckling

**I. Ugly Duckling**

I am a girl, a sickly child. My pale, practically white face, will make people look at me disgustedly. The dark circles around my eyes make me that much less appealing. Along with my skinny frame and bleach blond hair, I am nothing to look at, much less admire. In fact, people look down upon me and consider it a disgrace to hand about me. My poor family can hardly support me and we already know that there is no hope of me being married off. So instead of wasting their money putting me in the spotlight they have invested in my sister.

My sister, Caroline, is the prime of her day and has exceptional manners. She is the opposite of me. Beautiful, strong, and healthy; she catches every man's eye. My parents are hopping that she will marry a wealthy man and bring money back into our family.

At first, I was allowed to go to banquets and parties with Caroline, but that soon changed. When people would learn that Caroline and I were related they would turn their heads at her because I was an ugly 'spawn' and she might give my 'fatal disease' to her children. That's when my parents decided to lock me up. It's not as if I am a prisoner, so much as I am not apart of the family. I am not permitted to go to any event that will have me being recognized with my family and, most importantly, my sister. Then, when possible husbands dine at our home I must dine either in my room or in the kitchen with the servants. I am a prisoner in my own home.

Speaking of servants, not even they accept me. Long ago, when my mother saw how pale I was turning out to be, she took me and dumped all her troubles on a maid. Soon after the maid resigned from her post, saying that I was haunted by a daemon. I can't remember that far back, but I have heard enough of the servant's chatter that I can piece the story together. They avoid me, as does everyone else, but I am quiet when I walk and sometimes I can sneak up upon someone. I realize that I am the most horrible ghostlike thing you could possibly set your eyes on, but sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me, something else that makes them turn their heads when I walk past.

When my parents stopped bringing me places, I think that is when I started to ahte myself. Then I started to notice all the whispers surrounding me in in the corners.

"There goes the ugly duckling"

"No wonder there's no prospect of marrying her off."

And

"I'm surprised they didn't disown her."

were a few of the things that people would say. I would look in the mirror every morning and see the face everyone hated so much. I would see my mirrored reflection and I loathed it; hated it for being what it was. One day as I was on my way back to my room from supper in the kitchen I overheard on e of the servants saying, "If that girl look in a mirror, it would break into infinite pieces."

I ran all the way back to my room. Taking my hair brush I threw it across the room at my mirror. When it didn't break I stepped in front of it and smiled at my reflection. Sure enough, the mirror shattered at my horrendous state. I was eleven back then, and that was the last time I looked at myself in a mirror.

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**Just wanted to let you know know in advance that I might not update as often as you might want; seeing as this isn't my main story**


	2. Inspiration of the Night

**Inspiration of the Night**

Now you may think that my parents at least tolerate me. You would think wrongly; I am an abomination and want nothing to do with me. They disregard me and my well being. If I am within their sight, I am too close for them to handle; they send me back to my room so I can get to 'feeling better'.

I am alone in a house full of people, and must find something to do with my time. My parents complain when I run about upstairs, which means exercise is out of the question. Leaving my room is 'unsanitary' while I'm 'this sick', so no moving activity is an option for me. So I occupy my time with quiet things that no one has a chance of hearing.

A couple years ago I discovered night. I was fast asleep, having dreamless sleep that seems to accompany the night. I woke up to the sound of a bird. A hoot, a call, a crow outside my window. An owl is what I discovered it was. Stepping out of my bed onto the cold, chilly ground, my feet found ice. Crossing the icy cold plane to the windowsill I shivered. I crossed my bare arms over my chest and shivered. At the window I grasped the metal latch that kept the window closed and turned it. Opening the window a new wave of winter chill washed over me; my teeth chattering from the unbearable cold. I shooed the owl awe. Closing the glass windows I adorned my warm robe. Looking out across the moonlit night I was filled with an awe that can only be described as admiration and amazement. What lay before me was a beautiful wonderland no one had been acquainted with. The garden I looked down upon was a place I could sum up in my memories from one of the few times I had gone outside. But the light, playful, daylight garden had been transformed into a starlit place of serenity. The white light that spread across the garden, creating a white-winter dreamland, came from an iridescent glowing orb that hung in the sky among millions of little fireflies.

Unmoving, steadfast, and strong, the stars dotted the skyline; a patchwork quilt leading me onwards toward the horizon. Hanging a, a place holder among the eye-wonders, the moon shadowed over everything. Only, wherever it's shadow fell, a magical light would fall as well. "The moon," I once heard someone say, "is like God. It is a watcher, a hearer, an knower, a seer, and it loves all it sees. _You_, child, are the light in the moon; the apple in God's eye. And _you _were meant for greatness." Whoever that lady had been talking to in that crowd must be exceptionally special, for there is no sight greater than the one I saw that night as I looked out over the transformed garden.

That, I think, is when I began to dream of a life outside of this house, this home, this place which I know I don't belong. The scene that had lain before me so many years ago inspired me to capture that image and become something great. I wanted to try to become as beautiful as the moon herself, as inspirational as the light, and as strong as the stars I had seen in that single image. I would have tried to make my reality as such, but knowing how disgustingly ugly I was I decided that I would change the world in ways that did not force people to look upon me, but rather, look upon my work. So I began an unsettled, unkind, kinship with a pen and paper. I had the servants buy the writing utensils using my allowance that I had saved up and accumulated over the years.

[I began my journey with a pen, paper, and ink; so now it seems almost uncanny that this is the way in which I end it.]

Looking around my bare room the lack of décor seemed uninspiring. The bare furniture, colorless walls, and old sheets were lacking of any character. Yet, when you sit alone in a room for a few hours you realize that all of it has character. Every worn scratch was caused by something, someone that once used this very same furniture, no doubt. They had character, you just had to look at the obvious things, but underneath their surface. There was a stain on my bed sheet that I had wondered about ever since I had first discovered it. Now, I had an outlet in which I could spend my time writing wild stories that somehow intertwine with these meaningless things. My favorite thing to do was to write poetry though. I wrote many poems. One such poem is the one written below:

_Peaceful_

_Is what I am_

_As I sit here_

_Untainted_

_By the_

_Impurity_

_Of people's stance_


	3. Revelation

**Revelation**

My family lives quite near to a harbor. The smell of the sea is often times in the air.

_Oh the ocean that's great waves wander forward,_

_Oh that it show what it know to us,_

_Oh that it be the grace believe,_

_My goddess given beauty conceived,_

_Oh that it lend._

_Some listen of itself to me,_

_So I may yet hold it still._

The sea has captured men for centuries, and will continue to captivate men until the end of time. It is wild, and no restraints can hope to detain it. For the sea is a never ending call that men shall always find the need to heed. The sea is one of the many hungers of man; and I can't say that I have not been subject to it's call, for I have been. And, as all men, there comes a time when you can not hold back from answering that call; I have answered the call.

It's a foggy morning in July. The cold air has an icy touch. However, since there is now warmth in my cell other than my own body heat, having my window open does nothing to improve or chil the room more than it already is. Sitting at my desk writing; always writing. I write about nothing, yet everything at the same time; my pen, busily scribbling down what I have noticed. Until…a sound, a voice, reaches me from the window. My pen stops in mid-air on its way to my parchment. Perhaps I have imagined it. Wait, there it is again…I get up from my chair and hurry across the room to my window. Who would be awake this early in the morning? I wonder to my self, for it is only five in the morning and all souls should rightfully be asleep. Leaning out of the window I have a better perch, to hear the voice from, it is singing a song.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me."

The song continued on it's lonesome way until, through the fog, a dark shape comes into view. As it progresses along, it continues it's song, but sadness is its tune. A man, alone in the street, waking with a purposeful resignation, as though he has accepted his fate, singing his song of revenge.

My immediate thought is that he is smart to accept whatever it is that is in store for him. Besides, he has his little tune to give him comfort. But as he disappears into the mist I realize, I am nto like that man, I have not given up. For I still feel as if I have a chance to become what I want to be. And then I realized something else, I cannot do that here. I cannot sit around and wait for an opportunity to arise itself; I must go out and create my own opportunity. No one will come to me while I am alone and forgotten in a house! I must run out and make the adventure that I long for begin, get the ball rolling, so to speak.

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**here's another chapter. I know they're short, but they're going to get longer so don't worry. PLEASE REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!**


	4. The Beginning

**The Beginning**

It was yet another cold, foggy day in February. I had made all the appropriate precautions that I could when at home. I had been saving up my allowance for months now, eating only soupy meels. Occasionally I would need to eat a small buiscut to sustane myself, but I only allowed myself this pleasure on Sunday. All the money added up gave me a proper insurance for a travel dress suitable for the sea, and enough money to buy a round trip passage on the _Gallespo_, a ship I overheard the maids speaking about among themselves. Also, I bought a cape for myself, for Christmas. I felt as if I deserved something for being so brave. Also, and I wouldn't admit this aloud, but it helped to assist in shielding me from the prying eyes of outsiders. (people that did not know of my horrendousy.)

Adjusting the cloak so that it draped over my shoulders and down over my face, I dared to look in a polished windowpane to see what I looked like. I seemed to fit with my part. My hood created a dark place for me to hide my face behind, without needing to worry about not being able to see. "I'm off then," I told the shadow of a reflection that the glass created.

I stepped quickly an dquietly down a hallway and listened for some sign of a person. It was Christmas time. Everyone was busy preparing for Christmas Eve, just four short days away. Gold and silver decorations were lined down every hallway; except mine, of course. Paintings that I hadn't seen in years line the walls. Still wary of mirrors that appeared down various corridors I was wary to avoid them and, in doing so, taking the long winding way through the house I eventually came across the kitchen. From there, many loud voices and sounds of laughter could be heard from the dinning room. Some servants stopped to glance at me, but I knew that they would not bother reporting me to their mistress, my mother; it would be a pointless cause. So I went out through the servants corridors and past the stables, stepping on moist grass to get to the road.

Beginning my endless tread towards the wharf I held my cloak tightly around me. Very little attention was drawn to me, and I thanked the cloak for that. Many people had cloaks dawned to ward off the cold weather, so I did not warrant any suspicion as I would have in the summer. Peddlers filled the streets and shops lined the avenue. Many wares were being sold, even in the cold winter month. Each seller had his (or occasionally her) own stands. The most common wares were winter clothing, jewelry, and warm food. People walked up and down the sidewalks in a hurried bustle, focused on doing whatever particular thing they have in mid at the moment. The streets have carriages and horses clomping too and fro; carrying its passengers to far off places, no doubt.

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**I already have the next two chapter written, it's only a matter of me finding time to type them up**


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